The Ugliest Man in the League
by Anselm053
Summary: What starts as a simple favour for a colleague doesn't always stay that way. HuntressQuestion.
1. Chapter 1

The Ugliest Man in the League  
Stephen Anselm

Disclaimer: Standard disavowal of ownership of all nonoriginal material, especially that of DC.  
Summary: What starts as a simple favour for a colleague doesn't always stay that way. Huntress/Question.  
Historian's note: JLU continuity; early season 5.

* * *

"You really are ugly, you know."

There was a pause. Major downside of compressed burst transmission used by League-style comms: very narrow window in signal frequency and amplitude. So you couldn't hear a sudden intake of breath, or a quiet sigh, or a suppressed chuckle. Made it hard to tell what someone was really thinking.

And with some people you needed all the help you can get.

"So I'm told," said the voice in her ear.

Kick to the knee of the closest one, hard enough to break the cap. Probably not so hard he shouldn't walk again: the sound before he screamed was more a snap than a crunch. The intermittent light from the street gaslamp would let her know if he tried to get up, so she didn't bother to watch him fall.

Drop and crouch-roll to the right, towards the other two. The bigger one was holding something shiny that he'd picked up while she dealt with the first guy -- too small to be a crowbar, too big to be a tire iron: radiator pipe? -- and started to swing.

_Why does every alley in Gotham always have something heavy at hand for these guys? This was the city of lunatics: couldn't there have been a Mad Recycler sometime? _

Instead of stepping away she moved inside, her back to him. Her left elbow to his stomach, his right hand released the pipe on cue, she'd catch it an--

Down, right now, and push Pipe-Man away. There was suddenly a gun in Number Three's hand. He was smaller than the other two, so it made sense he'd be more of a weapons guy. Still, it was annoying: he should have shown it earlier if he'd had it.

Making sure to stay between her previous target and Three, she caught the metal before it fell. There was enough time for one well-aimed throw, so she made it, and turned on the ground, reaching toward her bow as a fallback. Then she heard the happy, scratchy bounce of gunmetal skipping across the broken pavement, and Three's sharp cry as he pulled back his hand.

_On second thought, supervillains with streetcleaning obsessions sound more Central City. They grow their bad guys pretty mild out there. I should ask the Flash next time I see him. _

_Whenever that is._

Several textbook punches, a quick confirmation glance at her first attacker, and it was done. Now to deal with their cowering boss hiding beside the van.

"Come on, you know I wasn't talking to you, Q," she said to the air. "I was talking to this piece of work."

And the guy really was ugly. Mostly it was the sneer, which he clearly used so much he couldn't stop even when he was scared. She grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him up against the wall, holding her arm across his neck. Her mask and cape cast a very batlike shadow behind him, and her mouth quirked at the image.

"That wasn't as much fun as I was hoping. So to make this evening worth my while, I want the contact protocol. Names, locations, times. Passwords, if there are any."

She pulled her arm back slightly to let him speak. He tried, at least; had to give him that. "Forget it. You can't do nothing worse than the guys above me would if I talk. You League guys are all bark."

"Think so? Then I've got some news for you," she said.

"I'm not with the League any more. They kicked me out. And it wasn't for being too soft."

She watched him consider this, and tried to ignore his too-loud aftershave. Wrinkling her nose would ruin the effect she was going for.

"I'm guessing you hadn't heard that yet. You see, we had a little disagreement about what counts as justice. And you know what?" She nodded her head towards his broken guards, half-conscious and moaning.

"I don't think it's fair when the hired goons get thrashed and the leader walks away without a scratch."

She brought her knee up forcefully, and he groaned.

Several minutes later, when she'd learned what she needed, she released him and he fell bonelessly. Every would-be syndicate had its weak spot, usually the lowest guy on the upper levels. Someone knowledgeable has to handle the paperwork, and sign off on the boring details the men at the top can't be bothered with. Find him after a few days' digging, and you've found your way in.

"You get that?" she asked into the quiet.

"Most of it."

She looked around, satisfied, and walked off, shaking the dust off her cape. She hoped she'd remember to do the laundry. "Then it's time to bail."

"I'm sure he appreciates it."

Huntress climbed onto her cycle, and revved the engine twice as distant sirens wailed, the police and ambulance on their way. She'd called before the fight, and was surprised they hadn't arrived yet. Must be a busy night. "I doubt it. Gratitude's not his thing. Besides, I didn't do it for the Bat."

She smiled, though she knew the Question couldn't see it. "He wasn't the one who asked me."

* * *

He turned at a sudden movement, but it was only his reflection in a mirror over a sink at the other end of the room. It was a standard mid-tech setup; a half-dozen lab benches were covered with the usual assortment of devices. Looked like some decent assaying equipment: a high-end mass spectrometer and a Haines chromatograph.

Seeing the 'graph set off some irrelevant memories. The Haines logo was the old one, without the triangles, so it must've been purchased before the buyout. The acquisition took place after a suspiciously low predicted earnings report: he suspected that MDH had promised Haines' major clients a better deal if they delayed renewing their annual procurements for a quarter. The stock price drops, a front company shorts the stock mostly held by the owners, and MDH uses the increased cash-in-hand to sweeten the takeover bid. Clever, and not entirely unethical. Use money you take from Haines to buy Haines at bargain-basement prices, because now they're desperate. But why would a company specializing in business-to-business middleware services want to own a chemistry supplies producer in the first place?

Well, that would have to wait. He had work to do tonight.

A brisk survey revealed that he might have wasted his time breaking in. The place had been swept, and everything seemed in order. The machines were clean, but not antiseptic: they'd been smart enough to run something innocuous through the systems a few times afterwards, to flush out any traces left in the tubes. It'd be inconvenient if that trick caught on.

This lab hadn't been sanitized by amateurs.

There were a few more rooms to check. He could catch a break yet, but it wasn't likely.

Walking towards the door, he saw himself in the mirror at the cleaning station again. Long blue overcoat over deep blue jacket, yellow shirt, and black tie; old-school fedora, also blue; and, as always, his face covered by the featureless beige mask.

"You really are ugly, you know," she said over the com.

_Ouch._

The drain was worth a glance: might be leftover particulates. But it only took a second to recognize the weak lime smell, and he spotted the popular and effective solvent on the soap shelf below the mirror. Useless.

"So I'm told," he replied.

_End of a long day. You want to get home to the kids, but first you have to wash up. You're tired and sloppy. Now where's your mistake?_

He pushed the faucet handle to the upper right, and after a moment the cold water poured over his black gloves. He checked for sprayback on the faucet head, but no luck. The sink had been scrubbed, there'd be no help there.

_You wash your gloves, then throw them in the disposal bin, then wash your hands, and leave._

The bin was four feet to the right with an obviously new bag inside. Need to think harder.

"Come on, you know I wasn't talking to you, Q," she said. "I was talking to this piece of work."

_You wash your gloves, then you take them off, and then you t—wait. You have to take them off one at a time, probably peel the left one first. _

The throw's a bit awkward with your right hand. It's a bad angle, you'd have to turn half-way around.

_So what if you don't toss the glove out yet? What if you set it down for a moment instead?_

He pushed the various bottles of cleaning fluids around on the shelf until he found what he was looking for. There was a tiny depression, a slight forest-green discolouration on the imitation wood. He took out a knife and small clear container from his jacket and carefully scraped some samples. After that he took pictures of the solvent labels so he could distinguish the sample sources later.

_And there's the mistake. Who thinks to clean the cleaning supplies?_

"You get that?" she asked him.

"Most of it." He hadn't really been paying attention to the litany of whens and wheres that the logistics guy Huntress was tossing had been chanting, but earlier he'd set the comlink to record.

"Then it's time to bail."

"I'm sure he appreciates it," he said, giving the room a final once-over. The Dark Knight didn't often request favours. So when he asks you to look into something, you look into something, and wonder about his inscrutable motivations later.

For the sake of completeness he'd check the other labs, but he probably wouldn't find much else. Almost done for the night.

"I doubt it," she said. "Gratitude's not his thing. Besides, I didn't do it for the Bat. He wasn't the one who asked me."

He felt himself smile. No change showed in the mirror except for a slight shift in the ears, barely noticeable. She would've caught it, though.

"See you soon."


	2. Chapter 2

Helena ran her fingers along the books on the shelf. Mostly what you'd expect: a dog-eared copy of Atlas Shrugged, no surprise there; a yellowed translation of the Nicomachean Ethics; a handsome hardbound two-volume series, the collected works of Nietzsche; and some economic classics like The Wealth of Nations and Hayek's The Road to Serfdom. There were a couple of computer reference texts with heavily broken spines, and -- heh -- Zoe: A Life in Music, one of those fawning and glossy pop-star picturebooks he must have rescued from some remainder table. She was a little startled by the last book: she recognized the intricate yellow papal seal on the cover.

"I didn't know you were a Zoe fan."

"I dance to Kewl when I get up in the morning," he said, not turning from the screen.

She stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"No. Now be quiet and let me work."

They'd met at his Gotham apartment. It wasn't much to look at -- one of those three-room numbers they advertised as one-and-half-bedroom in the classifieds which looked like a large bachelor when you got there -- but it would do as a place to crash. He didn't need anything more permanent, not when he could use League tech to beam him to his quarters on the station or his home in Hub City in a second. She missed that privilege of membership more than she thought she would.. that and the chance to look down on the gorgeously terrifying greys of stormclouds on the impossibly deep ocean blues.

Q finished editing the computer-generated transcription of Huntress' interrogation, attached that to the file along with the raw audio and his photographs of the lab, and assembled the set for upload to the Watchtower. He'd already had the physical evidence he'd collected transported for analysis, and he glanced over the preliminary results.

"The assignment's done. Time to give it to the teacher."

"I thought we were saving that for later," she said.

She could never be sure, not when he was wearing the mask, but she suspected that got a smile out of him.

He punched a few more keys, redirecting the comm signals through the microphone and speakers so that she could participate. After she'd been expelled from the League, her signal codes had been deactivated, so her comlink became a fancy earplug.

Since that would require him to pay extortionate cellphone fees, he'd had to come up with something after she started rejecting his collect calls. Eventually he'd adjusted her comlink's frequency out of the standard range. She was still using the cell relay sometimes, but even she couldn't fight with one hand busy, and this way they could chat while working. "Discretionary freedom," he'd called it.

He pressed enter. "Question to Batman."

"Batman," said the unmistakable gravel voice after a few seconds. "Report."

"Gotta love that charm," she whispered, and stuck out her tongue at the speaker.

"Huntress found Knauss and learned the protocol," Q began, and waited some time to let her name sink in. There was no response. He nodded to himself, satisfied, and continued. "The addresses should be valid for.." He looked at Helena.

She thought. "Three hours, tops. I timed it so that no one else should notice they're gone until morning, but Knauss will probably wake up in hospital in an hour or two. The boys in blue will lose the paperwork for an hour or so.." As an unofficial courtesy, when you served them up wrapped, the police moved a little slower so you could stay in front of your wake. Made life much easier all around. "Say another half an hour for him to figure out what story to tell that'll save his neck.. yeah. Three if we're lucky, one and a half if we're not. I'd move quick if I were you."

"Understood. And the lab?"

Well, that figured, she thought. Three evenings she'd spent searching before she caught the first exchange. Then another day lurking in the shadows –- exhausting stillness interrupted by sudden sprinting -- to follow the complex pattern of live handcarry and dead drops which led her to the people in charge. And the Bat's response? "Understood."

"That," said the Question, "was another story. Someone swept it, and it obviously wasn't their first time working cleanup. Unless they've got a natural forensic genius on staff, they've either been involved in this project longer than you think they have, or they've called in more experienced help. Neither of those are encouraging."

"Interesting," said Batman.

Not that you could tell from his voice. He'd use the same tone whether you told him that they were serving meatloaf in the Watchtower mess today or that Superman and Luthor were singing Sinatra covers off-Broadway next Thursday and you had an extra ticket.

"/He needs a girlfriend bad," she mouthed to Q during the pause, shaking her head.

"/I think someone's working on it," he replied.

"/Tell her to work harder./"

Finally Batman spoke. "The data on the project start is solid, and this group hasn't done anything on this scale before. They've brought in outsiders."

"There was a reagent trace they overlooked," Vic said. "Analysis isn't done yet, but it looks like mostly carboxyl group-to-terminal amine converters: the source material was probably biological, not chemical. My take is that the discovery was accidental, but then the scientists realized what they'd tripped over and decided to cash in quickly. The first people they contacted saw the potential, and it was the syndicate which brought in some external expertise to handle the shift to mass production."

"I've located three of the original researchers in Costa Rica, and J'onn is arranging recovery as we speak. I'd be surprised if they weren't in custody by morning. That'll give us more details on the chemistry, but since the drug's already in the wild unless it turns out the process has very particular requirements it's likely to be a dead end. I recommend following up on this James Dennison that Knauss mentioned: he seems to be at the head of the mobile lab group."

"Agreed."

"Okay, bored now," said Helena. She'd been leaning against the wall and had grown increasingly restless. "Look, we know where the bad guys are. Do you want me to make them ex-bad guys or not?"

Silence.

"I'll take it from here," said the voice.

"Fine. We'll stay at home, play with our Batman action figures, and cheer you on. So go sulk moodily at them, or impress them with your dancing, or whatever it is you do. Say hi to you-know-who for me while you're at it. Are we done?"

"Out." There was an abrupt click.

She smiled at the speaker. "Love you too, Bats!" she said sweetly.

Q closed the comm channel, cleared the screen, and swivelled in his chair to face Helena. "I see he's not the only one with a winning charm. Remind me again why you're not in the League?"

"Oh, that?" She dismissed it with a wave. "He can take it. And it's not like he doesn't deserve it, anyhow. Did you hear him when you first mentioned my name?"

"He didn't say anything."

"Exactly. Would some small talk kill the guy? 'Hey, how've you been, Huntress? League's not the same without you.'"

She warmed to her subject. "'And while I'm at it, thanks for helping save Gotham from a drug that makes crack look like oregano! Drop by the cave sometime, we'll shoot some pool! And get down with the mad funky beat! Uh! Uh!'"

Vic managed to keep from laughing until she started her very unkind but also very accurate imitation of a certain caped crusader's Egyptian-robot dance moves. The underground cellphone video had spread like wildfire through the League rank and file a few months ago, with Flash the obvious suspect.. but a little too obvious, Vic thought, and he had his eye on Zatanna. The general sense was that Batman didn't know it had been released, but so far no one had the courage to ask..

"Whatever," she said, after she finished the closing routine with the bizarre dog paddle/air punch combination, and made the shape of an L on her forehead. "He's just being himself, and he doesn't know any better. His loss. I still can't figure out if you like him or not, though."

He considered. "Does it really matter?" he asked. "I respect his skills, and you can't fault his determination."

"But?"

He sighed.

_But? He's one of the most important people in the League, maybe the world, despite the fact that his mental health and a quarter will get you a phone call. Of course no one's willing to admit this; the implications are too frightening. J'onn must know but hasn't done anything._

_And although you desperately want his approval, he'll never let you in, Helena. Because the real reason he won't ask you to join the club is that he doesn't like being reminded that not everyone who has a difficult childhood turns out like him. He needs to believe the myth he's made, that his choices were the only ones, that his empty shadow of a life is a necessary and inevitable response to tragedy._

_So he surrounds himself with fellow angsty basketcases in his codependent Bat-cult, the one you so badly want to join, spreading his misery to help him think it's normal. Look at what he did to that poor kid Grayson, who loved him like a father._

_Let's just hope he holds it together. For if Wayne ever snaps, God help us all. The cost of bringing him down will be terrible._

"But he has issues," he said at last.

"It takes lots of gall for you to say that, Q."

"I'm merely eccentric. Possibly," he allowed, "possibly even quirky."

"That's okay. I admire gall."

"What about quirk?"

"It's growing on me," she said, and resisted ruffling his hair for a moment before she gave in. "Anyway, if that's how you really feel, why'd you agree to help him in the first place?"

"He's Batman," he said simply. "He may like to pretend he's only an auxiliary, and that his membership in the Seven is purely honourary, but he's in it up to his pointy ears. And everyone knows it."

Though perhaps they didn't know just how deeply. By his last estimate, the Question was one of fewer than thirty-four people alive that knew who paid the bills.

"He's more than earned the right to have his requests heard, and this one seemed reasonable enough."

_His requests heard. Not his commands obeyed, whatever he thinks; deference is not servitude._

"Well, maybe," she said. She toyed with her bow. Drugs that filled you with exuberant energy for four months before they turned your insides to sand in minutes sounded like a quick way to help control the student population, but not good for much else.

"But what I wanna know is why you got off so easy."

"Hmm?"

"I try to fill Mandragora full of sharp sticks and get read the riot act. You try to bring down Lex! freaking! Luthor! and everyone just laughs it off and moves on. 'Oh, that crazy Q! Murder one, ha ha ha. What'll he do next?'"

"There are distinct advantages to madness."

"Come off it."

"It's true. And under the circumstances, the Powers that Be weren't feeling their usual moral certainty."

After a few seconds, he added, somewhat reluctantly: "However.."

"Aha! Knew it."

"You're right. There is a conversation I've been putting off."

"Huh? That's not like you, Q. You stood face-to-face with the Last Son of Krypton, Defender of All That is Right and True, and told him he was full of it." She raised her eyebrows. "What d'you do for an encore?"

"I've been putting it off," he said, not quite answering the question, "because depending on how it goes I might choose to join you back in the freelance world."

"Oh." She thought about it. "Oh."

He tilted his head at the angle she'd learned meant a wry frown underneath the mask. "I'm not sure either. I think I know what's going on, but some people are very hard to read. Could go either way."

"And let me guess. You'd miss the League tech, right? And all that data?"

"I'll have you know I was finding the truth behind the lies back when I had nothing more than a secondhand laptop and a pencil," he said, affronted.

Unrepentant, she bowed her head and spread her arms like an actress at a theatre acknowledging applause. "Wait for it.."

He lasted seven seconds before he conceded. "But yes, I'd miss the tech."

"And there it is," she said. "Thanks, you're a wonderful audience, I couldn't do it without you." She blew air kisses at him and the crowd.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?"

"Always. You think you're all mystery-man, but I've got you pegged."

She looked at him. "You're not seriously thinking of leaving, are you?"

"It's a possibility. One I'd like to avoid if I can, but there may not be a choice. It's long past time, though. I'll deal with it tomorrow."

She shrugged. "Either way, you've still got me, you lucky fool. So what's your problem?"

"I suppose," he said, "I don't have one."

She nodded and took his hand as he stood. "Tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

The Aristarchus crater draped over the Horn of Africa as the moon stretched over the curve of the Earth. If he squinted he thought he could spot Socotra, off past the tip of the Horn, Indiaward: it was said the diving was incredible. He also remembered vaguely that it ranked up there with Madagascar and the Galapagos for unusual plant life. The dragon's blood tree, for example, leaked a very thick sap, once prized for its medicinal qualities by gladiators.

For his part, he was more interested in the fact that this isolated island paradise was a major nexus for illegal trade in North Africa. The Kenyan government, through whose country most of the goods passed through afterwards – Mombasa in particular, which had the only official international port – enjoyed the bribes too much to take action. Yemen alternated between harsh crackdowns for the cameras and insisting that nothing was going on, and Somalia didn't even pretend to care. He should ask the African desk how things were going.

Question turned from the window. The main deck of the Watchtower was pretty quiet at the moment, all murmurs and electronic paperwork; early-evening shifts tended to be be slow and relaxed. Much slower than mid-afternoon, at least under the new arrangements, and the staff were definitely a little loose. Actually, come to think of it, that'd make sevenish the perfect time to launch an attack against the station for anyone familiar with the schedule: and if he could notice, so could others less well-intentioned.

He should talk to Lantern about setting up another surprise drill. It had been a while since the last. One scary enough to keep everyone alert for a few months, and warn them that not all of their foes will be idiots.. and many of the systems they rely on would be among the first to get disabled by the enemy in a real fight.

_Who knows? Could be my last act. Might be fun to take this place down one more time before I go._

_Eleven-zero-three. Not a bad record, if I say so myself, and Terrific had to fight hard for those draws when he took over. Still not sure where he got the mirrortech for the second match, but I award considerable points for originality.. _

_I'd thought it would take at least six minutes to get past the lockdown barriers and antiteleport fields once I tripped them, but in under forty-five seconds he had the defence team in place beyond the third ring of doors. With portable gravpacks, no less! No idea how he found out I'd set the floor gravs to randomize. That should have bought me another minute and a half._

_He probably would've won if I hadn't rigged one of the docked ships to blow the station beforehand, on the grounds it was always intended to be a suicide mission and that everything else was just distraction. Read Ender's Game sometime, Terrific. You're not always playing the game you think you are.._

_I'll never forget the look on his face when all the screens went white. Lucky for me he couldn't see mine._

He sighed, recognizing the tone of his thoughts: nostalgia. And before he'd even left, at that. He was getting sentimental in his old age. Must be her influence, he never used to be like this.

_Helena's right. I really would miss it here._

Friends he didn't need. But it was surprisingly.. refreshing.. to have equals.

His quarry finished receiving some sort of update from one of the support personnel, and was now alone, reviewing a datapad. It was time to stop postponing the inevitable. He crossed the deck, and stood beside his target.

"We should talk," Vic said.

"Now is not a good time, Question."

"Better than most. And we've been putting this off for far too long. But I guess we can talk out here, if you'd prefer. Should we start with how you've been completely obnoxious?"

The nearest tech, who'd been unobtrusively eavesdropping, realized he was overhearing something way over his pay grade and decided that the board on the other side of the deck was really much more important and should definitely be tended to first. He left quickly.

After a few moments, Batman marched off to the inner conference chamber, and Vic followed, casually. When the door closed behind him, they walked to the centre of the room.

Batman turned to face him, and gave him the deathglare which had reduced countless Gotham criminals to gibbering fools.

"Look, I'm not interested in one of the staring contests you have with Superman. It's a waste of time and energy, and we both know that I'll win. After all, I have an advantage you don't."

The Question adjusted his tie, loosening it a bit, and tilted his fedora; relaxed as only a man without a care in the world can be.

"Unlike you," he said, "I can blink as much as I like."

From behind the mask, he smiled.

A few seconds went by, and then Batman gave a curt nod.

_Point to me. That bodes well._

"You wanted to talk, then talk."

"More like I had questions. One's especially been preying on my mind: why am I still in the League?"

"If that's your problem," said Batman, with a hint of dry amusement, "I have a solution."

"I thought you might. But it's not a problem-- it's a puzzle. Why am I still in the League? Huntress got kicked out for much less."

"At first I thought it was only because everyone wanted to sweep the Justice Lords under the rug. I even wondered if the job was a bribe to stay quiet about everything I'd seen in the Cadmus files."

"Or it could be another example of the arbitrary standards in this place. Huntress tries but fails to kill the man who killed her parents, and who's responsible for the death of dozens more, and she gets expelled. A certain Thanagarian betrays the League, betrays her adopted home, and her actions lead to the death of thousands of innocent people. Could have been billions. What happens to her? Years in prison for treason and mass murder? Well, she's one of the Seven, and an ex-lover of another, so.. nothing. She mopes for a while, and she's having relationship troubles. That's her punishment."

"_That's what the League needs," Helena had said. "Emo birds. I got out just in time."_

"I think it's clear how things work around here: once a Superfriend, always a Superfriend. It's not what you've done, it's who you know. And apparently I know someone."

Batman shook his head. "Don't blame me for that. You must know my Shayera vote."

"I do. And I know you signed off on Huntress' expulsion as well. Which makes it even stranger that I'm still around, doesn't it? I went digging, and do you know what I found about my status?"

"Absolutely nothing. Which can only mean that the man most likely to have me expelled – you -- didn't want me expelled for some reason, and so the subject never arose. And I don't think that's because you suddenly decided that it was time to start being consistent."

"Apart from your attempt on Luthor," Batman said, "your work on Cadmus was good. Some might even call it excellent."

_Nice. Offer a sideways compliment, but avoid having to say you agree. Helena's right: you're all class._

"It was," agreed the Question. False modesty was the worst kind of pride. "But you wouldn't keep me around as thanks for things I'd already done; that kind of gratitude isn't in your nature." On a whim, he added: "Huntress says you're welcome, by the way."

"No, you'd only have me stay if there was something you still needed me to do."

"And I asked myself, what could that be?"

"Then one day Green Arrow dropped by with a few quiet words about what might need to happen if any of our more powerful members went off the rails in Justice Lord fashion. And he mentioned your name: 'quis custodiet custodes ipsos'. And then.. and then things finally started to make sense."

Batman tightened his stance slightly. Not much, but enough that it was clear he meant it to be seen.

"With only a few words, you gave Arrow the go-ahead to develop contingency plans. And that's where I come in, isn't it? After Cadmus you knew that I wasn't impressed by the so-called authorities who outrank me; that I was willing to do what was necessary, and capable of it; and that as a well-known madman I could be thrown away if needed, with minimum damage to the League. You realized I'd already been watching the watchers, and had a perfect cover story established to dismiss anything I'd need to do."

"And you couldn't give up such a useful pawn. So you didn't object when the softhearted council members let me off, because you had plans of your own."

"Arrow's job is to play Superman in any resistance movement, I think. To lead the fight, to inspire the troops. Mine? I guess I'm supposed to play you. My role is to operate from the shadows."

Arrow would be the white knight, charging to the defence of the League, raising the banner everyone would flock to. The Question would be the black.. no, black knight was already taken, which left..

The bishop. Responsible for confirming new members, and defending the faith, even to the point of deposing errant priests. He stole a glance at the ceiling in wry acknowledgment of the appropriateness. He did hand out the keycards..

"And if that involves actions you officially abhor?" he asked. "Well, you've always been more willing to let things go than you pretend, haven't you? When the Justice Lords showed you just how high the stakes were, I think you finally acknowledged you need a fallback, and one whose necessary acts you can wash your hands of afterwards."

"To do what you won't. That's why I still have a desk. And the security codes."

Watchtower remote self-destruct included.

"Those are serious claims," Batman said.

A heartbeat passed.

"Mr. Szasz."

* * *

Vic stared.

Saying that was in execrable taste, and a sign that the Bat was in a very unpleasant mood. Using an unpublished True Name like Vic Sage would be bad enough, but using the name behind the name? That was downright personal. It went way over the line, and could be interpreted as a crude threat.

Well, two could play at that game. He should really save this card for another day, but now he was annoyed.

"Mr. Wayne."

* * *

Batman's eyes narrowed to horizontal slits, and the sudden icy silence made the background whisper of the air filters sound like roadmaking machinery.

If Helena had been there, she'd have imitated crickets chirping, and at the thought of that he had to force down a laugh. He suspected it wouldn't have been appreciated.

_Oh, come on, Batman. If you hadn't thought I was capable of finding that much out, would we really be here?_

He'd taken it up as a part-time hobby many years ago when a Batman project had interfered, unintentionally but very inconveniently, with one of his own. Three months' work down the tube, without even an apology. It was a violation of the unwritten rules to try to name someone behind a mask, but he'd been seriously irritated, and he wanted to know exactly who he was angry at.

At first he'd spent his time trying to rule out those who couldn't be the Dark Knight, which went nowhere; there simply weren't any plausible candidates left when he was done. It wasn't until he threw Sherlock out the window and realized that he should instead look for the best possibility among those who were least likely to be Batman, who couldn't possibly be Batman, that he made any progress.

Batman was brilliant, athletic, motivated, psychologically damaged beyond repair, seemingly omnipresent in Gotham, and with unlimited resources. _And he didn't want to be recognized_. So, Vic had reasoned, he should be looking for someone stupid, clumsy, frivolous, well-adjusted, who was sometimes in public when Batman was also in public, and poor. That hadn't worked either, but he was confident he was on the right track, so after spending a few weeks toying with the ideas that Batman was a woman or a known criminal, or maybe even the Flash, he started dropping the conditions one by one.

As usual, it was in the last place he looked. Bruce Wayne was not poor.

It was a Tuesday morning when he put it together, he remembered. Kaleidoscope meets Taser meets cerebral cortex. Not fun. After coherent thought returned, he'd spent the rest of the day astonished at the sheer magnitude of the effort involved. Why not just kill the playboy and act the hero full-time? Finally he'd decided that it was an obligation to the parents, that Wayne's sense of filial duty meant he had to keep the son alive.

Batman was still glaring at him, which wasn't nearly as intimidating as he must've hoped – having grown up under the watchful eye of the Mother Superior, this was nothing – and Vic felt a burst of dark pity.

_But it's too late, isn't it? The son died that night in the alley. Now the man who bears his name is just a character in a one-role play performed by the monster who took over._

_It's not your parents you're trying to avenge. They'd never have wanted this for you. You have to know that much._

_It's the boy. It's him you can't forget. _

"So now what, Batman? You have me mindwiped by one of the telepaths? I wouldn't recommend that."

The Question was nothing if not well-prepared. He had to be: you never knew when a secret elite squadron of mystic ninjas working for the government would be sent to brainwash you. It had happened to a Brownie troop once, back in '83; it could happen to him.

The complex series of events he'd arranged if anything out of the ordinary were to develop, from sudden forgetfulness to sudden death, might seem like overkill.. but there were quite a few people out there who must pray every night that he crossed the street safely.

One more couldn't hurt.

Batman seemed to be considering ways of having him dealt with in some painful fashion, but Vic knew it was all for show.

_You were already pretty sure I knew who you were, Wayne. That's why you said my name in the first place. _

_You knew that it would bother me. So at the least it'd distract me, and if you were really lucky you might be able to confirm your suspicion that I'd cracked your secret. I'm fine with you knowing that, so all is well._

_Your cold rage is all pretense. This way, on the off chance that I didn't realize you knew I'd found your name, then I'd think you were surprised and angry and scared-- and therefore predictable. So if we crossed swords at some point in the future, I'd respond not to what Batman would do but to what an upset, petulant Batman would do: and then you'd win by doing something else._

_It's the same reason I said your name in reply. Why would I give up such an important tool purely out of frustration?_

_No, you must have suspected I knew. Now, either you underestimate me, or you understand I can play at your level. Both ways I win._

Eventually Batman spoke. "No. I trust you'll keep the code. As for the other matter: if your theory is right?"

The identity issue off the table already? So Batman _had _known his name wasn't a secret. Giving the Question the chance to deduce that must be intended as a warning that there was no underestimating going on.. and a bold statement that Batman was confident enough in his position that he could afford to give out warnings.

_You're even better than I gave you credit for. I'm going to have a headache tomorrow from all this._

"If I'm right? Honestly?" He shook his head. "Then I resent that I've had to play mind-reading games with you when I could have been doing something useful. This is the third time I've tried to talk to you. You must've guessed what it was about. If you wanted to know if I'd do something, you could have asked. Even Arrow managed that much."

"It could have been a test," Batman said. "To see if you were worthy of the task. If you couldn't discover it for yourself, I'd have found someone else."

_You really are an insufferable rich kid, aren't you?_

_People go through worse things than you did every day, Wayne. Every single day. And they dust themselves off, and they survive, and they don't wear their tragedies as a badge of honour, or think their pain gives them privileges others lack._

"My work's more important to me than jumping through your hoops, Batman."

_As are reruns of professional bowling._

"And I doubt I'm the only one who wishes you'd see that."

That was about as far as the matter could go. Batman was constitutionally incapable of recognizing there were stories other than his; his emotional landscape was still that of a precocious eight-year old boy.

_I suppose one of us has to be the adult. Might as well be me._

The Question put his hands in his pockets. "In any event, the danger's real. I know that better than anyone. So I'll see what I can do.. which, for the record, is what I told Green Arrow back when he asked. Simpler all around, don't you think?"

No response; but he hadn't expected one.

"So if that's your only condition for my staying in the League – that I keep worrying about the concentration of power, and think of ways to prevent catastrophe if the safeties fail, and be ready to move if the worst happens – then I accept. Would have done it regardless. If you've got something else in mind, then let me know right now or I'm done. I'm through guessing your intentions."

Vic had hoped to work a sudoku reference into that, but he couldn't make it fit. He should really write this stuff down beforehand.

There was another long silence, but somehow it was less threatening than those that came before. Finally it finished with a short nod on Batman's part. The Dark Knight had recruited another soldier for his emergency army, and that was that: he moved to the exit without a word. Still, Vic imagined that he walked somewhat lighter now, with one fewer uncertainty to distract him. If only Batman could show that courtesy to others.

At least this was over and done with.

_Almost over, that is._

As Batman crossed onto the main deck the Question pushed a button on the PDA in his coat.

**Beep beep beep.**

A pause, of only a moment, and not even a glance inside his cape; and then Batman walked on. The door closed behind him, leaving Vic alone in the room.

It had taken almost seventy solid hours of work. The first ten or so were straightforward: finding the appropriate tech to make and edit a copy of the device's flash memory without triggering any of the comm's active sensors. Twenty more to break the encryption, and that was easy enough, though dull.

The remaining forty hours were excruciating. The designer had been admirably paranoid, and the machine compared its live code memory with a long hash stored in hardware hundreds of times a second. It wasn't enough just to remotely overload the memory. He had to ensure his replacement code had exactly the same hash or the machine would warn the user it was under attack. And since brute force would take centuries, he'd had to build a code that matched manually. Doctorates had been granted for less.

And now he'd have to do it all over again, probably from scratch.

But there was no point in doing things by half-measures. On that, he and Batman agreed.

_For it wasn't the man with the gun who killed the young Bruce Wayne, was it?_

_It was you._

_He wasn't the victim of murder._

_He was the victim of suicide._

It was worth all the effort to give Batman an answer to the question he wouldn't ask. There was no way around it: a man with the drive, the determination, and the skill to make plans to bring down his colleagues – a man like that bore watching himself. And the Question thought he was up to the challenge.

It was rumoured that there was exactly one League member to have a private supply of Kryptonite, and there was no doubt who that was; another, maybe J'onn, held chains worked by Hephaestus; and who knows, maybe the Flash kept a tank of yellow paint to spray Stewart with if Lantern went bonkers. He'd have to find out, one way or another.

Who should do the actual deed if the day came? Superman? Probably not, it'd tear him up too much. He'd be useless afterwards. Not fair to Diana, either. Besides, it should be a mortal.

Nightwing could get close enough, but Grayson had already suffered enough at Batman's hands; the Question wouldn't add to that tally with a Freudian nightmare.

Well, decisions like that could wait. He just had to make sure it could be done.

_But I won't do it for you, Batman. _

_I'll do it for the people who care about you, despite everything, and who should never have to be in the position you've put them. _

_I'll do it because even though you're crazy, you're one of the best the human race has to offer, and it's only fitting it should be one of us who ends you._

_I'll do it because it will need to be done, because you're too dangerous as it is, much less if you lose your flimsy grip on what's left of your mind.. and because I'm one of only a handful who stands a chance_.

_And I'll do it for the boy you killed rather than let him suffer like the rest of us._

Vic sighed.

_I always did have a soft spot for kids._

* * *

Helena gave him an impish smile as he took off his jacket and threw his hat on the rack. She turned the wok, adjusted the temperature, and reached over to kiss Vic across the kitchen counter.

"What's the story, babe? You still the ugliest man in the League?"

He rolled his eyes. "Remind me to frame Flash for something. Something that would get Shayera very, very mad. I hate that phrase."

"That a yes?"

"That's a yes."

She took out the pins she'd used to keep her hair up while she was cooking, and shrugged. "Well-- I guess that's good, right? Still, I gotta say, I was kinda looking forward to having you more to myself."

"Sorry, Helena. Duty calls, and who am I to refuse? I'll tell you all about it. But there is something we can do together.."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm flattered, but I'm starving. First we eat."

"That's not what I m--"

Well, maybe that's what he should have meant. She did look awfully cute in the apron.

She swatted his hand as he tried to taste the sauce. "We're not on patrol, and we're not animals. We'll eat from the table, like normal adults, with a fork and knife."

"This from the woman who eats my cookie dough raw?"

"That was different," she said. "That wasn't at a meal. The cookies were the only course. And I don't trust you to read a recipe right. Here, take this."

He carried the tray into the next room. "Don't trust? You ate a whole sheet's worth," he said. "Did you really need to try that much just to check? I don't even understand how you managed it."

"Grab the wineglasses too while you're at it. The secret," she said, "is in the water."

He looked for the glasses, but they weren't in the cupboard with the others. "Where are they? And what's this about water?"

"Wineglasses, Vic. Not plastic juice cups. They're in the main cabinet, with the china. The one in the living room. You've seen them a thousand times."

"I actually haven't, thanks."

"Dearest? You're an idiot," she said, as kindly as she could. "Every time you watch TV they're hanging there only a few feet from your head."

"I'm an idiot? When I'm watching TV, by definition, I'm watching TV. I'm not breaking my – here they are, I found them – not breaking my neck to look behind me and to the left. There's no television in your china cabinet."

"Some master of observation you are. Okay, we're done." She bumped the drawer closed with her hip as she carried the final two plates into the dining room.

"Am I ever going to find out what you're on about with the water?"

"Oh, that. If you eat dough until you're totally full, but then you drink ice water, it resets your stomach somehow. It's gotta be almost frozen, but if you do it right you can get more in that way. Usually works twice for me before I'm done."

He felt a little queasy at the idea. "Helena--"

But there she stood, across the table, with hair disheveled, and she'd missed one of the hairpins, and she was reaching awkwardly behind herself to get at the apron knots and not having much luck. She was beautiful beyond belief.

He blinked several times to avoid embarrassment.

And there was nothing to say.

Except-- "You're beautiful."

"Well, I know that, Vic. What's next, you'll notice my hair colour?" But she turned aside to say it, and she looked a little redder than usual when she turned back.

The apron dealt with, they sat down, and she poured each of them a half-glass of Merlot. "So what're we doing together that's got you so excited?"

"Are you free next Thursday evening around seven?"

She thought about it. "Should be. Why?"

"How'd you like to demolish the Watchtower? I was thinking of crashing it into the ocean. Oh, and we have to steal a copy of the tech database first. We need to teach the evening shift a thing or two, and I have a reputation to maintain. Anyway, the more we break, the better. And I could use your help."

Slowly she realized he was serious. The resulting grin would have scared a tiger.

"Sounds fun," she said calmly.

They clinked glasses. "Cheers," said Helena.

He couldn't help feeling that things were going to work out just fine. A lot of things.

"So.. well.." He trailed off.

She shook her head, and began to cut the bread; but she smiled while she did so, and her eyes were full of promise.

"You League boys. First things first," she said.

"First we eat."

THE END


End file.
